Hot Bot

The Buddhist monks walking through America with their rescue dog Aloka is an extraordinary sight. The calm they bring. Hundreds of people lining the road as they walk for Peace. Their orange robes wrapped round them through rain and snow.
Quietly entering peoples hearts.
Talking with children, accepting flowers, Aloka padding along beside them. The dog leading a community of like minded souls.
The billionaire big wigs have ignored them whilst the meek have embraced them.
Community appears to be a thing of the past, although Glossop has kept its youth centre open with the help of everybody.
I live in a like minded community.
One pub and fifteen or so dwellings. We are in the little cottage at the top of the hill. Once a forge we still have a mounting block where the horses were shod. Three of our locals are trying to trace the history of our little publet.
We had post offices and a shop, a wheelwright and a blacksmith.
Now we have retirees and generosity flowing from every door.
I am buggered at the moment
Can’t do anything with my arm.
Can’t drive.
Can’t smile.
Can’t teach.
Can’t cook
I have dialysis three times a week.
My neighbours have formed a rota and every morning at 7.45 somebody turns up in their heated cars.
Every lunch time somebody turns up and collects me.
Most of the cars have a heater under the passengers seat. By the time we get to the unit I’ve got a hot bot.
A delightfully warm derrier.
I am overwhelmed by their kindness.
For 76 years I have been fiercely independent. Now I am reliant on the charity of others. The old git doesn’t drive any more and the dawter is in and out of London.
So I have to ask for trips to the dentist, the podiatrist, the dry cleaners and the supermarket. Doesn’t matter how many times I’m told my they are happy to do it I still feel weedy and needy. I feel tearful and desperate. and yet the monsrous regiment keep showing up.
I’m still living in the what was.
When I had my health.
When I had a little red sports car.
When I had work coming out of my ears.
When I was that version of me that spontaneously combusted whenever I wanted.
Now I am having to learn how to receive graciously.
Quietly accepting the kindness of others.
Quietly accepting.
‘After all’, they say, ‘You would be the same in this situation’
I’m having to learn how to accept and receive.
Unexpected good.
Unexpected kindness.
Unexpected generosity.
Unexpected offers.
From unexpected places in unexpected ways.
It’s mighty hard but I keep at it.
As things disappear from my life I know that the empty space will be filled with something new.
There are those that say we are going through some kind of cosmological shift. That the last will be first and the morons will get their come-uppance.
I’m prepared to go with it.
I am grateful for my community and grateful for the possibility of a new mind set.
I look forward to the day when the orange Buffoon is deposed and the Reform party sinks into the sea.
I look forward to spring and to my arm mending so I can drive again and take my neighbours to their appointments.
I’m looking forward to getting my sense of humour back cos right now if Mel Brooks sat at the end of my bed with a Jewish joke book I wouldn’t be able to raise a titter.
I’m gong to sleep now in the knowledge that in 6 hours I’ll be sitting in the hot seat my bot hot next to a neighbourly driver.
Thank you all.